


Doctor's Appointment

by MissDilemma



Series: Tudetale [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Dadster, Doctor's appointment, Gen, Needles, Sick Kid, TudeTale, Undertale AU, shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22219606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDilemma/pseuds/MissDilemma
Summary: Sans goes to the lab to see how his soul is doing.
Relationships: W. D. Gaster & Sans
Series: Tudetale [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572343
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	Doctor's Appointment

Sans held his father’s hand, moving with a little skip in his step as they walked to the lab. His father had said going to the lab today was very important, and Sans liked doing important things, so he was happy to come. It was just another check up. He didn’t like it, but his dad always gave him a treat afterwards, so he didn’t terribly mind. 

“It won’t take long,” his father said, squeezing his hand. “Just a few quick tests and then we’ll go get you some nice cream. Won’t that be fun?”

“Yeah.” It would. Nice cream was always good. “Why couldn’t Papyrus come?”

“Papyrus has school.” He had a sing song in his voice. “We couldn’t take him out of school for an appointment that isn’t his, now could we?” They reached the lab door and it opened for them automatically. The lab smelled like metal and bleach. It made Sans’s nose bridge wrinkle.

“I guess.” He thought about Papyrus in school. He had just started kindergarten. He came home every day with coloring pages, his hands covered in paint, and singing the alphabet. He always looked like he had so much fun at school. It was probably going to be more fun than whatever tests Sans would do today. “Daddy, why can’t I go to school?”

“You know why, Sans.”

“No, I don’t.” He vaguely remembered being given a reason once before, but he couldn’t be bothered to remember it now. They got on an elevator and his dad picked a button far out of Sans’s reach. 

“Because you’re sick Sans. If you were to go to school like Papyrus did, you’d just get more sick. You don’t want to be more sick, do you?”

Sans sighed. “No.” Whenever he got really sick, he had to get a shot. And if going to school made him get sicker, then he would surely get more pokes and tests and he hated those.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not in school.” The elevator opened and his dad lead him down a long hall. “Besides, if you went to school, then I wouldn’t be able to teach you.” He supposed that was true. His dad was a really good teacher. He gave him lots of hard things to think about that made his head hurt from thinking, and he loved that feeling of figuring things out and seeing his dad smile at him. 

“Then why can’t you teach Papyrus?”

His father sighed. “Why all the questions, Sans?”

Sans shrugged, his feet getting heavier the closer they got to the examination room. He recognized the door, a big metal thing completely unidentifiable from its neighbors save for the big red light above it. He’d never seen it lit up before. It still wasn’t lit today. His father ushered him inside before grabbing him under his armpits and hoisting him onto the cold metal table. He shivered, the chill seeping into his bones despite the pants he wore. He kicked his feet, watching his father go to the cabinet and pull down something like a picture frame, with glass on the inside instead of a drawing. Sans crossed his arms. 

“Don’t worry Sans. You’ve done this, remember? Just a picture.” He knew. And he hated it. The picture wasn’t so bad. It was what happened after that was really awful. “Move your arms and lift your shirt. Come on.” He slowly did as told, uncrossing his arms and tugging his shirt over his head. His dad lined the camera up with his ribcage, holding it steady before the screen lit up with information. His father stood, back painfully straight, looking over the scan like he was looking over Sans’s homework. Sans rubbed his arm, digits going over a permanent indent in his bone where he usually got poked. “Hm.” 

“Is it bad?”

“I...” He covered his mouth with a hand before pulling it away and smiling. “I’ll be right back, Sans. I’m going to get someone who I think can help.” He put his hand on Sans’s knee, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Stay right here, okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Good boy.” With a fleeting smile, his father left the room, leaving Sans alone. This used to make Sans scared – being alone in the oppressive exam room. But now, it was his only reprieve. What happened before didn’t matter, he couldn’t control what would happen next, and this was the quiet moment in between where he could let himself feel how scared he was for what comes next. He couldn’t show that to his father, and he really couldn’t show it to Papyrus. But alone in this room? Completely safe from judgement and free to lose it? 

It was almost better than the nice cream they always got afterwards. 

He let himself cry. Loudly. As soon as he permitted the tears, they came in gallons, spilling down his face and dripping on his pants. He whined and cried, long hitching gasps, letting his voice pull out all of the discomfort. His shoulders heaved and his soul ached from the emotional exertion. If he cried now, if he squeezed all of his nerves out, maybe, when his father came back and did whatever he had to do, Sans would be out of tears so he could look brave.

As soon as he started, he stopped. He didn’t know when his father would come back, and he couldn’t be caught crying like this. Sans knew his father was just trying to help and didn’t want him to know just how wrought he was. He couldn’t stand to see the disappointment on his dad’s face...

When the door opened, Sans jumped. The sound startled him. His father came in, that soft, coaxing smile still on his face, and behind him was a cat monster. They smiled, too, but Sans couldn’t return it. 

“Hello, Sans,” the cat purred, friendly and leaning down to his level. “How are you?”

“Good.”

“Your father showed me your soul scan. You seem to be having some real trouble with it.” Sans shrugged. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

He knew what that meant. Too many of his father’s colleagues had asked that question. He instinctively brought his knees to his chest. 

“Sans, let Dr. Hollister help,” his dad said. Sans shook his head, sockets wide, watching the doctor with all his intensity as if that would turn her to stone. Nothing good ever happened when a doctor took his soul out. “Sans, be a good boy for her.”

“It’ll just be a moment,” she promised. A lie they all told. 

“I don’t want to.”

“Sans.” He shuddered, closing his sockets. He didn’t want to see how stern his dad was. “I’m going to count to three. One.” Sans squeezed his legs. “Two.” His dad was going to make his soul come out one way or another. “Thr-“

“Sorry,” Sans muttered, giving in, choosing to uncurl rather than go down fighting, letting himself believe that maybe this time would be different. He put his hands on his chest, took a deep breath, and pulled them away, his soul coming with. Most monsters his age couldn’t take their soul out so easily. Most monsters his age hadn’t had to at all. 

His soul was ghastly. Upside down, a sickly pale blue with cracks and puncture marks, the surface shriveled like a raisin. There wasn’t enough magic to keep its rotund shape. The cat monster peered at it but, thankfully, didn’t touch. She started talking to his dad, using words Sans barely understood. He caught “Have you tried...” and “Are you sure...” but none of the things she was suggesting made any sense. Not knowing what they were talking about made what little magic he had stand on end. Eventually, she suggested something and, to Sans’s shock, his father was speechless. 

“I... No, I have not thought of that.”

“Well, then that’s what you gotta do.”

He looked at Sans with concern that shot straight through the child’s marrow. 

“It’s... not the easiest treatment.”

“This isn’t the easiest condition,” the cat said. “Give me a minute and I can brew it up for you.” 

“Thank you, Caterine.”

“Anytime.” The cat turned and leaned down to Sans’s level again. He cradled his soul close to his chest. “I’m going to go get you some special medicine, okay? It’ll make you feel all better.” He wanted to believe her. But that’s what every second opinion said. And they were always wrong. 

“Kay.” The doctor left, leaving Sans in the room with his father. He sat down beside his son. “Can I put my soul back in?”

“Um, no. This medicine-“

“Kay.” He figured. This medicine would be put on his soul. The last thing he had to take was a kind of cream to rub on the surface. Before that he practically had a cast on it. “Can I put my shirt back on?”

“Of course.” His father picked up the shirt and they traded, Sans taking his clothes and putting his soul in his father’s gentle hands. He put it on over his head. He reached his hands out to take his soul back. His dad didn’t return it. “Sans, this medicine... it’d be better if I held your soul when we give it to you, okay?”

“Why?”

“It would just be better.” He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a stress ball, something he always gave Sans to hold whenever he got a shot. He offered it. “You can squeeze this, if you like.”

“Am I gonna get a poke?” His hand went to that spot on his arm. 

“We’re not giving you a shot in your arm today.” Slightly calmed, Sans reached out and took the stress ball. He played with it between his hands, squeezing the rubbery material and feeling the little beads squish around each other on the inside. “You’re a very brave boy, Sans.” He didn’t respond. He just squeezed the ball. 

The door opened again and he squeezed the ball tighter. The cat returned with a plastic case and a jar. 

“Okay!” She was chipper, practically singing as she put the materials on the counter and started doing final preparations. “So, this is going to be twice a day for six months. Hopefully, by then, it will have worked it’s magic.” She turned around and, to Sans’s abject horror, held a needle and syringe. Its barrel was thick and the plunger was pulled back an inch, holding in a black liquid. The actual needle was big too, longer and larger than most shots Sans got. He squeezed the ball, turning to his father with betrayal. 

“You said I wouldn’t get a shot!” His father enclosed his soul in his hands, keeping it from leaping back inside Sans from nerves. 

“Not in your arm.” Realization rolled over Sans like the rising fake sun. His father was holding his soul because he didn’t trust Sans to hold it still (which he shouldn’t have, he would have put it back inside him immediately if he had it). Despite his efforts, he still had tears to well up in his sockets. “It’s not going to be that bad, Sans. Do you want to sit in my lap?”

He didn’t want to get a shot. But, since he couldn’t control that, he just nodded. Maybe sitting in his dad’s lap would make it less scary. He crawled on, holding tight to himself and the ball. His dad passed the soul to the cat before wrapping his arms around him. Sans felt held back. 

The doctor took his soul and held it. She actually put her fingers on his soul, holding it like an apple. Sans hitched a breath, feeling the searing presence all over his body. His dad shushed and whispered to him, telling him it was all going to be okay, squeezing him tight as if he would spring away. He very well might, watching that needle get closer and closer to his soul. 

When it pierced, he saw only black. The pain wasn’t just something he felt. He became it, his marrow turning to needles, his bones on fire, his scream carnal. He could barely here it, like he was listening in from the door outside. It hurt. It hurt so so much. And it didn’t stop. Most shots one) weren’t this bad, and two) only lasted a moment. This one kept going. It kept going and going, drawing him and his magic out until he was gum scraped on concrete. 

And then finally, mercifully, it stopped. His marrow returned to liquid, his bones burned out, and he could see his father’s face looking down on him with a smile. 

“There you go,” he said. “You did such a good job.” Sans lolled his head. He was exhausted and could barely keep it up, but he had to see his soul. The syringe was empty in one hand, and his soul sat in the other. The pale white inside had turned foggy and black. The film of it, he supposed, looked slightly less wrinkly, but the black color was jarring and felt wrong. 

“Here you go, little fella,” she passed his soul back to him. He reached his hands feebily out and put the soul back inside, no hesitation. 

“Hngh!” It didn’t feel good to put in. If anything it made his bones shake more. The cat put her paw on the side of his skull, trying to soothe him. 

“You’re such a good boy for your dad. Keep your chin up like that and you’ll be better in no time.” She looked to his dad and they exchanged a few words. Sans could barely hear them over the uneven pounding of his magic. “Bye, Sans.” The doctor left without him looking up. His dad stood up, cradling Sans in one arm as he walked over to the box and jar on the counter. 

“Is that more?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes.” He started collecting the items, putting them in his interdimensional box. He let out a breath. “Twice a day for six months. Sorry, kiddo.”

“’S fine.” It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t stomach the idea of doing it even one more time. Let alone hundreds of more! It felt like someone had drunk through him like a straw and he was supposed to be okay with doing that again?! It was the morning and he was supposed to do that again tonight?! “’S’not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” his dad admitted, carrying him into the hall and to the elevator, “but it’s going to be over soon. Just six months and you’ll feel better than ever.”

He couldn’t get his hopes up. He was always disappointed. But right now, he needed to at least pretend. “Will I be able to go to real school then?”

“If you want.”

“With Papyrus?” He thought of his brother. Would Sans even be able to hug him when he came back this afternoon?

“He’d be two years behind you, but yes. You’d be in the same building.” 

Good enough. Sans pressed his head into his father’s chest and let himself focus on that image. Him being healthy and holding Papyrus’s hand, waving goodbye to their dad and walking to school together. They’d separate to go to their classes and friends. Sans would have lots of friends. He just needed to meet them. He’d finger paint and do fractions and give his teacher gifts, and then he’d meet Papyrus after school and help him wash his hands before going home. And then he’d do his homework, play for a while. They’d get take out and he’d be able to eat the same food as the rest of them. And then he’d go to sleep because he wanted too, not because he couldn’t stand any more. 

He held onto that future, treasuring it closely. 

He didn’t taste the bi-cicle his dad bought him. He just felt cold.


End file.
